


Missing Stiles

by UchiHime



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, M/M, Tissue Warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-19
Updated: 2013-06-18
Packaged: 2017-12-15 10:58:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/848727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UchiHime/pseuds/UchiHime
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The plan went to hell within minutes. Someone has to gather the pieces.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. An Ending

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written as a gift for Rena (simplystiles)on tumblr. Original post [here](http://simplystiles.tumblr.com/post/49709598951/i-got-a-bit-carried-away-but-i-hope-you-enjoy-it).

Stiles moved through the dark forest, barely avoiding tripping over the obstacle course of roots and rocks in his path. The moon hung large and full in the sky, casting an eerie glow through the trees but granting very little light. He could barely see a few feet in front of his face, but he couldn’t stop moving forward. 

There was blood dripping down his arm, but he was too adrenaline high to feel the painful wound the blood was coming from. He could barely move his left shoulder because of the arrow embedded in it. The forest was unnaturally silent, not even insects or animals were making noise. The only sounds he could hear was the pounding of his own heart.

Stiles stumbled over something and was unable to catch himself because of the limited movement of his shoulder. He fell to the ground with a loud groan, rolling to his side at the last moment to keep pressure off his injury. He lay there, his head swimming, not wanting to get up. Not wanting to move. He just wanted to rest. To close his eyes and sleep. To bury his head in the dirt and hide away until the world stopped being such a messed up place.

But he couldn’t stop. Not yet. He couldn’t rest. He had to keep going. He struggled to his feet, falling back to the ground twice before he managed some solid footing, and pushed on. There was a clearing up ahead, it couldn’t be too far now. Derek had said they would meet there once everything was over. 

They’d had a plan. A flawless one. They’d worked and reworked the details until there was very little margin for error. But, somehow, things still had gone wrong. Very, very wrong. Nothing had gone right. Nothing had gone according to plan. Stiles didn’t understand how he’d screwed up so badly.

He could just make out the clearing. Stiles pushed himself to move faster. He had to find Derek. And Scott. Isaac. Erica. Jackson. Boyd. He needed to find the pack. He needed to know they were alive, unharmed, safe.

He stepped passed the final tree and entered the clearing. It was empty. It was  _empty_. Stiles looked left and right, turned in a circle, and fell backwards onto his butt. The smell of earth and forest filled his nose, clouding his mind, but he continued looking, searching. Where was everyone? Where were they? Why weren’t they here? They were supposed to be here. They were supposed to be here and safe and alive and unharmed.

Tears stung at Stiles’ eyes and his heart pounded even harder in his chest. What if they were hurt? What if they were dead? What if they had all died because he’d screwed up so badly. His breath became short and a splitting pain shot through his head. They were all dead. They were all dead because he was an idiot. He couldn’t do anything right. 

His body shook. Little trembles that would quickly grow into painful convulsions. Tears streaked down his face. He could see them. He could see all of them. He could see them pale and lifeless, painted red with their blood, eyes open and staring, skin cold and grey. Broken, dead things wearing the faces of his friends. 

He curled in on himself. Fetal on the ground. Cradled by the earth. Alone in the forest. There was a feeling in his arms that meant he was helpless. He was hurting all over, but the pain he felt wasn’t physical. He felt weak and tired. Even making his lungs expand to draw air was more effort than he was willing to make. There was no reason to fight it now. He wanted to rest. He closed his eyes.

“Stiles!” 

“Derek?” He raised his head off the cold earth and looked around. “Derek!” He called out again when he saw the man on the other side of the clearing. With a strength he didn’t know he had, Stiles pushed himself to his feet and stumbled towards Derek.

Three things happened at once. Derek screamed his name again and started running towards him, Stiles felt a wave of relief washed through him at the sight of the alpha, a pain exploded in Stiles chest and he was forced down to his knees.

Derek roared and bolted past Stiles. Stiles knelt there in disbelief, staring down at his chest. The metal tipped arrow had entered through his back and was now sticking out his front. He raised his hand and gingerly touched the skin around the wound. He just couldn’t understand what had happened.

“Stiles!” There were hands on him, touching him all over but not really touching him at all, as if their owner didn’t know what to do. The hands were red and sticky with blood. Derek’s eyes were wide and scared. His face was completely human and open. Stiles could see everything he was feeling right there on his face.

Stiles smiled softly, just a little twitch of his lips. “Derek,” he said. His hand shook as he raised it and pressed it against Derek’s cheek. Derek wasn’t scary anymore. He wasn’t the big bad alpha Stiles had known and loved. He was a frightened little boy who’s world had been turned on its side. Stiles almost felt bad for him, but he knew Derek was resilient. It would take some time, but he would move past this. Derek was strong. He would survive.

“Stiles.”

Stiles closed his eyes. He wanted to rest and now that Derek was here, he could. Derek would watch over him. He always did.


	2. Snapshots of Before

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brief instances of Derek's life before losing Stiles in no particular order.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Original posts can be found [here](http://simplystiles.tumblr.com/tagged/bakerstreetanalysisunit).

They fought all the time. Usually over stupid things like Stiles supposedly babying the pack or Derek ignoring text messages. It was silly. Sometimes Stiles couldn't even remember what the fights were about. They fought simply for the purpose of making up. Making up was nice. Making up was hard kisses and heated touches. Making up was clenching tight handfuls of clothes, flesh, and hair, not wanting to ever let go. Stiles liked their fights a lot.

* * *

Sometimes Stiles would dance. When he thought he was home alone, he would turn up the music on his laptop and let loose. He was a gangly mess. Wielding a pen like a microphone, he would strut around the room, gyrating his hips, bumping into things, knocking stuff over, flailing around as if he was having a spastic attack. The first three times Derek had witnessed this, he'd just sat outside the window and just watched, not willing to interrupt Stiles being Stiles. Derek watched with a smile.

* * *

Stiles had decided Derek needed a Pop Culture Reeducation. This meant Stiles controlled his radio whenever he rode in the Camaro, handed him books to read, and demanded he come over every night to watch movies and tv with him. Derek had already read most of the books and seen most of the movies before, but he acted like he hadn't because it was fun seeing Stiles freak out when he said 'who's Buffy,' and because he liked spending time with Stiles and he liked how passionate and lively Stiles was.

* * *

Stiles didn't know Derek had seen him kissing Lydia. Derek had done one of his usual spontaneous visit, but was surprised to find Stiles wasn't alone when he peered through the window. Derek couldn't even remember what Stiles and Lydia had been talking about, when he thought back to that day, all he could recall was the moment their lips met and his heart shattered into a million pieces. He didn't even remember why he'd gone to see Stiles. Everything was lost in a haze of pain.

* * *

One day, Derek just snapped. The pack was over for training. Stiles and Lydia were having a hushed conversation in a language no one else understood. The conversation was filled with laughing and touching and flirtatious looks and Derek was growing increasingly annoyed by the second. Then he just snapped. He marched over there and grabbed Stiles, pulling him into his arms and kissing him furiously, He held Stiles and glared at everyone in a way that made his point quite clear. "Mine."


	3. Snapshots of After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brief instances of Derek's life after Stiles in no particular order.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Original posts can be found [here](http://simplystiles.tumblr.com/tagged/bakerstreetanalysisunit) and [here](http://littleredtriskele.tumblr.com/tagged/missing-stiles).

Years later, Derek would wonder when it all had gone wrong. What had he done to make this his life? He wasn't a perfect person, he knew that, but he tried to be a good person. When he cared about someone, he cared about them with all his being. He them loved with all his heart. And he would fight for them with all his strength. He wasn't good at showing affection, but those he loved always knew he loved them. He hadn't done everything right, but he'd done his best. So, how had he ended up alone?

* * *

Derek often sat outside Stiles' window, just listening. Waiting to hear the sound of the teen coming home, the thump of his backpack hitting the floor, the squeak of his desk chair catching his weight, his voice as he talked to himself, the tap of his fingers against his laptop keys, the beating of his heart filling the room. It was all music to him. The Soundtrack of Stiles. Long after the music ended, long after Stiles was gone, Derek would sit outside and listen, hoping to hear it again.

* * *

Derek wakes in the middle of the night with a name frozen on his lips, reaching for someone who isn't there. His heart pounds in his chest as a torturous series of images replay in his mind. It takes only a few seconds before he understands what he'd been dreaming and the pain sets in. It makes him angry. Makes him want to break something, destroy something. Mostly it makes him sad, because he's constantly reminded of how he couldn't save Stiles. He gets out of bed knowing sleep would not return.

* * *

Derek didn’t exactly ‘miss’ Stiles. It was more that he was suffering from the lack of the teen’s presence in his life. Missing someone is just wishing they were back in your life. But suffering the lack of them is feeling as if a part of yourself is gone and you’ll never be whole again. Saying he missed Stiles sounded cheap. People say the miss stuff all the time. Insignificant things like a television show or a different point in time. Missing Stiles wasn’t enough. It didn’t describe the pain, the emptiness, the desolation, the regret, It didn’t explain how his absence was like a festering wound, making day to day life difficult, if not impossible. 

* * *

Sometimes he hated that his body healed so quickly. All the injuries he received healed in a matter of minutes, if not seconds. The physical pain he felt was always so brief. But when the injuries he received were on an emotional level the pain persisted much longer. It was like something was hindering his ability to heal. A constant stream of electricity coursing through him making the synapses in his brain misfire, every attempt to head only causing him more pain. Unlike physical pain, his emotional pain couldn’t be healed in a few seconds. It had taken years to even start healing after losing his family. He would have never fully recovered if not for Stiles. Even with Stiles’ help, healing had been a process, not the instant wellness he was accustomed to. It had been a process, but in the end he had healed. He had recovered. In then, in a matter of seconds that recovery was undone, because he had lost Stiles.

* * *

Derek didn’t really know how to talk to anyone. He always felt that they blamed him for Stiles. Why wouldn’t they blame him? He’d been there. He’d been right there and still hadn’t managed to save him. Whenever he saw members of the pack, he could feel their judgmental gaze on him. They thought he was a bad alpha, because what kind of alpha stood bye and let something like that happen to a pack member right in front of them? The weight of their gaze made him want to break, just collapse under the pressure and let a litany of apologies fall from his lips. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t save him. I didn’t save him and I’m so sorry.” But even if he apologized, it wouldn’t be enough. What he’d done was unforgivable.

* * *

Sometimes during the early morning hours, on the rare occasions he manages to get a full night of sleep, Derek rolls over in bed. Still mostly asleep, he reaches out an arm for Stiles, wanting to pull the teen to him and hold him. To feel him warm and safe in his arms. To hear him breathing and listen to his mumbled complaints about being stirred from his slumbers. Derek’s arm falls against cold sheets. Stiles’ side of the bed is empty. That is when he remembers. And as the sky turns from dark to light, Derek allows himself a moment of weakness. He buries his face in the pillow that only contains a small trace of Stiles’ scent and lets the tears spill from his eyes.


End file.
